


Stargazers in the Sand

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Jolto, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:06:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets originally posted on Tumblr based on a headcanon I sent to Lesley (vanetti). It somehow snowballed. And this happened</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Stargazers in the Sand

John laid on his back, one hand behind his head, the other carefully entwined with James’s. He reveled in the feeling of it, both of their hands small and stocky. His eyes were fixed on the stars, connecting the constellations he could see, but he knew by feeling rather than seeing that James’s eyes were glued to John.

“James, this was your idea. You could at least pretend to be looking at the stars.” he chided, a smile crossing his face. He heard James sigh theatrically and shift his head to look up. 

“Christ, why did we ever decide to make light bulbs? Light pollution takes away from all of this. You can’t see stars like this in London.” he said, before slowly raising their entwined hands to press a kiss to John’s knuckles. “Almost makes you not want to leave, doesn’t it?”

John heard the shifting of James’s head again, and this time turned to meet it. The other man’s eyes were soft and backlit by the millions of tiny light above them. “In a way, yes.” He let the moment hang, suspended in the air, hoping that James caught the layered meaning. By the softening of his eyes, he could tell that he did.

“Then again, if we leave this hell hole together, who would need the stars?” James said. John cocked an eyebrow, inquisitive.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“If we leave this place together, we could get a flat. Live together. Have something softer than sand under our heads. And who would need the stars because goddamn I think your eyes are pretty damn close.”

John huffed a laugh and looked back up at the sky. It looked almost as if you gave a child a piece of black paper and let them go nuts. He smiled a bit more. “You’re a sap, Major James Sholto.”

James looked back up as well, “All because of you, Captain John Watson.”


	2. Part 2: Stargazer on the Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angst half of the party

Only one thought ripped through John Watson’s mind as a bullet ripped through his shoulder. James. James and the words he’d said after a mission gone wrong that left him the only survivor.

In his mind, as his blood painted the sand dark crimson, he saw that face he’d come to love, now marred with horrific burns that would never go away. “Promise me, John.” James had croaked, smoke inhalation tainting his lungs.

“Anything, James. Anything. God, Jesus, anything.” he had replied, tears freely flowing from his eyes.

“When you get out, find me. Promise you’ll find me?”

John nodded and gripped the man’s hand, “Of course, James. Of course I’ll find you.” James squeezed back and his eyes slipped shut, When John woke the next morning, James was on a helicopter back to London and all John could think of was him.

Every day. That was the only thought. The promise.

But now, on the still-hot sand in the pitch black, John Watson looked up at the stars, tears from two completely different types of pain streaking down his cheeks, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”


	3. Part 3: Stargazers at Highnoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they didn't know before, they know now.

“Keep your eyes on me, James.” That voice. Christ, it had been so long. How long had it been? James didn’t know. But it wasn’t the same. There was terror in it. It wasn’t the same soft whisper in the low light. Not the same, not the same, not the same.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes, do you hear me?” There was a small, firm hand on the right side of his face, rank and propriety diffused in the utmost moment of fear. “Open your eyes, James. Come on, please, let me see them.” John’s voice was strangled, and James longed to fix it. To kiss away the terror like he’d done for so many uncountable nights now.

James peeled his eyes open, the effort almost making him close them again. When he did, he was met by those dark cobalt blues glinting in the high sun. “John.” He breathed, his voice so close to failing him. John smiled, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, which were full to the brim with threatening tears.

“Hey.” His voice had softened to a whisper, barely audible. “There you are, handsome.” John’s thumb ran along his cheekbone softly, soothing. “I’m gonna get you back to camp and I’m gonna fix it, okay? I’ll fix it. I promise.”

James’s own smile was weak, and with a shallow breath he replied, “I know you will.” He let his eyes slipped closed again, trusting the doctor at his side.

As if through water, he heard John’s terrified voice once more. “No, James!”

***

When James opened his eyes again, he was indeed back at camp in his own tent. He looked down as best he could to see bandages wrapped around his torso and found himself smiling. John fixed it.

At that thought, the tent flap opened and John walked in, holding a bottle of water and another of antiseptic. “Hey, you.” He said, placing the water and antiseptic aside, helping James sit up. “Thought you’d be awake by now. Good thing, too. That bandage needs changed.” He handed James the water which he drank gratefully.

John set to work changing the bandage, hands gentle and soothing as James flinched from the sting of the antiseptic. Once he was finished, he sat back, hands on his knees, staring at the ground. James carefully shifted a bit more so his back was straight. “John.” He spoke carefully, knowing how shaken he must’ve been under his exterior.

John looked up and sniffed, holding back tears. “You scared the hell out of me, James.” His voice was a whisper and James tried to shift to reach out to him, but recoiled from the pain in his side. “Shit. I’m sorry.” John moved closer and carefully placed his head on James’s shoulder.

James carefully threaded his fingers through John’s hair and kissed his hairline. “Don’t be.” He said, knowing what John was really apologizing for. “You fixed it, just like you said you would. Just like I knew you would. There’s nothing to be sorry for, love.”

And that moment made it real for the both of them. An endearment only whispered in the shadows of night had now seen the light of day. The true danger of what they were facing and what they were doing had befallen them, but in the light of day, they both knew that despite everything, they were real.


	4. Part 4: Stargazers, Apart

"You. It's always you. It's always going to be you." John Watson twitches nervously in his sleep, the hospital bed sheets slightly scratching his skin. That voice. He would know it in the center of a crowd. 

"You're so handsome I can't stand it." The thought comes unbidden as James Sholto carefully dresses himself, one armed, for the first time. His left arm is limp and useless, his face is scarred and burned. What would John think of him now? Nothing good, he's sure. 

"Promise you'll find me?" John bolts awake, the pain in his shoulder ignored in the sheer panic of memories he thought so long gone. He shakes his head and thumps back down onto the mattress. It creaks and strains under him. This bedsit is awful. 

James sits in the yard of his house in the middle of nowhere, right hand gripping the grass, feeling more like a vortex than a hand. Empty and like it will swallow him whole. He looks up at the night sky, the stars poking through the dark expanse. There aren't nearly as many as in Afghanistan, but it's close. He supposes. 

John goes for a walk one night and looks up at the sky, and laughs. He can't see a single damn star in this part of London. He thinks back to what feels like years ago. What was that phrase James had used? Light pollution? There was too much if it here. He carefully limped back to the bedsit, suddenly sullen. 

James stands, his eyes still trained on the sky. 

John looks up a star map on his laptop, his finger tracing the constellations. 

"Come and find me." James whispers to the silent breeze. 

"I will find you." John whispered to the empty room.


	5. Part 5: Stargazers, Reunited

John didn't mean to do it. At least that's what he told himself when he found his eyes absolutely glued to the photo of James in the article written up about the mission. He didn't mean to let his eyes fill with tears as he stared at the unblemished face of the man who left him behind in that hell hole. He didn't mean to do it. And he didn't mean to let the tears fall as he read the article. Oh James...

James didn't think he'd find anything when he looked up John Watson. But the blog... There was only one post. Things are happening to other people. James blinked, suddenly knowing what he had to do. He had to go to London. 

John is walking through Russell Square Park, his leg giving him hell, but he just had to keep walking. 

James didn't know how he found himself in this specific park, but he did, and John was there. Right there. James took a step and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound flew forward. 

John caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. For a brief second, he thought he saw James, but shook his head, blinking, but when he looked back, he was still there. If his leg would've allowed, he would've run for him. James made up for it, meeting him halfway. 

When they met in the middle, John threw the arm not holding his cane around James's neck, and James threw his working arm around John's torso. They buried their faces in each other's shoulders, gripping, holding on for dear life. Their words kept tripping over one another. 

"What are you-" John. 

"I wanted to see-" James. 

"I never thought we would-"

"...needed something to happen to you."

"The article, James I don't-"

"I know, I know."

James pulled back only slightly and moved his hand to cup John's face. "I know. But let's not talk about that now. Can I kiss you?" He ran his thumb along the shorter man's cheekbone reverently. 

"God, yes."

John moved his own hand to James's face, and when their mouths met, it felt like coming home. It felt like so many nights spent under an Afghan sky, counting stars, holding hands, gazing. It felt like an apology and forgiveness. 'I'm sorry for leaving you.' 'It wasn't your fault.' It felt like the untightening of two hearts. 

When they pulled back, they spoke in a half clinch. James smiled for the first time in what felt like months and spoke the only thought on his mind, "I was right. Who needs stars?" He gazed even more intently into John's eyes. 

John smiled back, shifted his cane to the opposite hand, lightly placing his right on the left side of James's face, and James didn't flinch, "You're so handsome, I can't stand it." 

James broke at that and wrapped his arm around John's torso again. John's hand went to his hair, lightly and soothingly stroking, "I can't stand it, I can't stand it, I can't stand it."

They found themselves at John's bedsit later that night, just looking at each other, touching not cautiously, but nostalgically. 

"I can't stand it."

"Neither can I."


	6. Part 6: Stargazers in Full View

John's fingertips danced lightly over James's chest, nonsensical patterns, maybe a call back to a time long passed. But it's not long passed anymore, because James is here, in his arms, with his hand in his hair. He had waited so long for this, if he was honest with himself. And James was so careful. Holding him gently, his fingers now tracing down John's arm. 

John rolled onto his stomach, carefully pulling his leg to rest in between James's, looking up at the other man. "Can I ask you something?" he asked, his voice soft in the stillness. 

"Anything, John." James said, holding his gaze. 

"What did you mean when you said you wanted something to happen to me?"

"Oh," James took a breath, the motion of his chest lightly lifting John along with it, "that. I read the post on your blog. You mentioned Murray getting married and how that was 'something happening to him.' I wanted something to happen to you. So I happened." He smiled shyly, as if being caught redhanded, but John pulled his head to his lightly, kissing him. 

"You looked me up? And somehow found that bullshit blog? Never thought it would actually bring something with it. Though I guess you're not the only guilty one here." James's hand fell lightly to his hip and he sighed again. 

"John, please. I don't want to-" he started to protest. 

"I know you don't, James, but you have to. You have to know that there was no way that mission would have succeeded. No way in hell." James had turned his head to look away, but John pulled him back, intent. "No way in hell, love." 

James let out a short breath and placed his hand over John's, relaxing slightly at the endearment. "It was supposed to be routine. No one was supposed to die. I can't stop thinking about it. They're all dead and here I lay, alright, in whatever sense of the word." He screwed his eyes shut. 

John breathed in deeply through his nose, steadying himself. "James, look at me." James complied, no hesitation. "There were IEDs all throughout that area. Missteps at every turn. You can't protect an entire group of crows from things you don't know exist. You're not Superman, love." John traced his finger from James's brow to his jaw, waiting to feel the muscles relax under his touch. They didn't. 

"And then there you are, able to look at me exactly the same way as you did before." James countered, carefully disentangling himself from John and standing up. "I don't know how you can do that. No one else does. I'm Major Slaughter or whatever else they call me in the press." He moved to the door of the bedsit, and John scrambled out of the bed, throwing every caution to the wind, wrapping his arms around James's torso when he reached him. 

"Don't." he whispered into the space between James's shoulder blades, "Please don't do this to me again. I can't lose you again. I just got you back. Granted, I never thought I would, but you're here, and that's what matters. Please don't leave me again, James. Please. I didn't even have to watch you leave last time."

James attempted to steel his resolve, to pull himself from the arms wrapped like a lifeline around him, but he couldn't. He could never say no to John Watson. Not in a million years could he say no to John Watson. He turned around carefully, pulling the shorter man closer to his chest. John was shaking, "Sh, sh, I know. I don't remember how to let go of what happened. I don't remember how to be okay. And I shouldn't put you through this again. I just shouldn't." 

He carefully maneuvered them back to the bed, laying them down and pulling John as close as he could get him. He murmured softly, his arm running up and down John's back. There was never a balance between them. They always passed the baton of strength and weakness. One normally bared it longer than the other, longer than the other saw fit. James had to smile at that. Nothing had changed. "I never meant to hurt you, John Watson."

John sniffed and gripped tighter at James's tshirt. "I know, James, I know. And I never meant to hurt you. I never thought I'd get this again. Leave it to me to bodge it up. I want you to know that I would've done whatever it took to find you. I made a promise, remember?" 

James laughed lightly, grateful that the mood was lightening, "Believe it or not, yes I do. I was half out of my mind at that point, but I remember asking that of you. I remember wanting to ask you to fix it, like that bullet wound. But I don't really know if even you could've fixed this."

"I remember that. Scared the shit out of me. More than anyone else. No one understood why. Couldn't have really said, either." John's voice was returning to normal, the cadence of hurt and despair no longer carrying. 

"That's when I knew, you know?" James said, catching John's eyes, "I heard how scared you were in the field. And I knew that I didn't mean nothing to you."

"And that's when you first said it in the light of day." John said, snuggling impossibly closer. 

"What, love?" James said with a smirk. 

"Exactly that, you git." John smiled back. 

"I do, you know?" 

"You do what?" 

"Love you."

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't love you too." 

John's smile grew wider as he leaned forward and kissed James. More smile than kiss, really, but James didn't mind. They pulled back slowly and rested their foreheads together, noses barely touching, looking like two kids who just released the weight of the world. 

"I love you," James said, his tone reverent and awed, as such a thing could happen to him, now, of all times. 

"I love you," John returned, equally awed. In a fit of lightness and love, he kissed the tip of James's nose, making the other man's face crinkle. 

"I hated when you did that."

"No you didn't."

They smiled. 

They loved. 

At long last, in open view.


	7. Part 7: Stargazers, Thankful

James awoke at approximately six a.m. the next morning, his arm asleep from John laying on it all night. He didn't mind. He smiled, kissed John's brow and extracted himself carefully to let him sleep a bit longer. A thought came to mind and his smile turned more to a grin. He was going to make breakfast. 

Despite every bit of food barely being touched, James thanked his lucky stars that John even had half a mind to buy himself some. He carefully picked out the eggs and bacon and set to work. Cracking eggs one handed was no struggle, seeing as James himself had been doing it for years. And soon enough, with the first waft of bacon through the tiny bedsit, John shifted in the bed and entered the kitchen. 

He wrapped his arms around James's waist, kissing his shoulder blade though his thin T-shirt, "What's this? Am I being treated to James Sholto's famous breakfast? I must've done something right."

James laughed, sat down the spatula, and raised one of John's hands to his mouth to kiss the knuckles, "Mm. Thought you'd like it. Still take your eggs with an ungodly amount of pepper?" He asked, turning to face John who now had his face laid on his bicep. 

"Oi, pepper is the spice of life!" John countered, mockingly offended. 

James kissed the fake hurt off of his face and flipped the bacon, "Oh, Watson, did you learn nothing from what I taught you?" He jested, tipping out the eggs and bacon onto plates. 

"I see someone forget tea again." John said, carefully flitting around James to set the kettle on the hob. 

"Wasn't a luxury we had in Afghanistan. Slips my mind most days. Sorry, love."

"No worries, babe. I'll get it. Sit those on the table, yeah?" 

James did as instructed and laughed, "'Babe.' Haven't called me that since you started flirting with me. God that takes me back." 

The kettle screamed and John poured the tea into two mugs, fixing James's with a splash of milk and two sugars, "'Babe.' 'Darling.' 'Sexy.' 'Handsome.' I had quite the repertoire, if I recall." He sat down and placed the mugs in their rightful places, "All still true, might I add." John winked. 

James chuckled lightly and extended his leg to wrap his ankle around John's as the man himself almost emptied all of the pepper shaker onto the eggs. "God, I don't understand how you do that. I'm not kissing you today." He ran his foot up John's calf and chewed on a piece of bacon. 

"Oh, I'll brush my teeth, don't worry." John shoveled some eggs into his mouth, sighing with satisfaction, "Exactly like I remember." He ran his own foot up James's calf, "Thank you, love."

They ate and talked about everything and nothing. In the end, after a another careful conversation about Afghanistan, James broke his vow not to kiss John with his pepper breath and leaned across the table. When he pulled back John whispered, "Thank you."

"For what?" James asked, "Kissing you?"

"No," John said, shaking his head and reaching across to grasp James's hand, "finding me when you did. Don't know what I would've done." 

James kissed John again, the overwhelming taste of pepper long forgotten. He hoped to convey his own thanks in the kiss, the thanks for every mend, every kiss, every night spent under the stars in Afghanistan. A thank you for loving him despite the tragedies they had both befallen. A thank you for being his stars.


	8. Part 8: Stargazers in Afghanistan

Afghanistan, 2008

'The one I love is standing near. The one I love is everywhere.'

John Watson couldn't keep his eyes off him. The major. Sure, they had been working beside, under, and above each other for months, but today, under the Afghan sun, his dirty blond hair catching the light just right, John couldn't stop looking. Major Sholto's muscles shifted under his fatigues and John swallowed, nearly audibly, he was sure. But goddamn, he couldn't stop looking. He wondered if Jame- Major Sholto, knew the effect he had on John, other the fear of a commanding officer, of course. 

James knew there were eyes on him. Hell, there were always eyes on him, he was the bloody Major. But this was different. It felt different. He didn't dare himself to hope. He never dared himself to hope that J- Watson, outgoing, bright Watson would take a second look at him, nonetheless gaze. He shifted carefully, seamlessly, but heard nothing. He didn't dare himself to hope. To dream. 

***

He didn't dare to dream, but he dreamt anyway. The captain, full of life, under him, over him, smiling, laughing, gasping, sighing and, God forbid, moaning. James knew it wasn't real for several reasons. Rank, for one, and the possibility that Watson wasn't interested in men at all. It could've been another pair of eyes that morning. His eyes peeled open, and it was still dark. The moon had barely shifted. Approximately one thirty. He closed his eyes again and dared to dream. 

***

John noticed the Major's avoidance the next day. He wasn't sure what he had done, but it stung. A lot. In a second of downtime, he made to catch Sholto's arm, but stopped, not knowing what would come of it. He spoke instead. "Major Sholto, do you have a minute?" His was steady, which surprised him. He was proud of himself. 

James however? He wasn't so confident as he replied, "Of course, Watson. What's troubling you?" His voice shook and he mentally slapped himself on his cowardice. 

"Would you mind telling me what I did wrong? You've barely glanced in my direction. I didn't think I did anything too out of line yesterday."

The Major took a deep breath, "No, Watson, you've done nothing wrong," he said, voice normal volume, but added under his breath, "It's what you can't do." 

John tensed up, thinking he'd heard wrong. "What? What I can't do? Is there something I should work on? James, tell me." He blanched, "Shit. Bleeding Christ."

James's eyes snapped up, trying desperately to steel his expression in his usual Majorly face, but couldn't. That slip wasn't a huge deal if coming from even footing or above, but from below, and from John? It was a lot bigger. James looked around, and when he saw no one looking, motioned for John to follow him. 

John followed. Of course he followed. When they reached a secluded place, James didn't turn around, but his shoulders slumped. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, "Captain Watson." John's face fell, but he didn't let it show. He replayed the words in his head and caught the tenuous thread of propriety. 

"James." John had stepped closer, and had cut the thread. James didn't turn around, despite all his muscles screaming at him to do so. He couldn't. Sure, John had taken the leap first, but he couldn't, could he? James turned around and looked into a face with a twisted sort of hope. The sort of hope he himself had. 

"James, I know you know. Or at least I know- or I hope that you- I don't know- feel it. Shit that came out wrong. I can- I'll just-" he pointed behind him, but James grabbed his other arm. There was no shock like you hear about in books, but the warm clasp of a hand around a wrist. Safe. Home 

"John."

***

London, 2010

James's foot ran up John's calf slowly, pulling him back, "Where'd you go just now, love?" He reached across the table and grasped John's wrist. John looked down at his hand and smiled. 

"There. Back to the beginning. The gazing, the pining, and then the flirting when I got more confident. So much happened back then. And we had to be so careful. But we don't have to be as careful here. Though I would like to get a flat of our own sometime." James's grip loosened and John looked up to see his face had fallen, "James?"

He looked up, an inherent fear in his eyes, "John, this is my first time back in London since returning home. I don't know if I could settle in here. And you have to remember, almost everyone here knows who I am and what I did. I don't know if I could actually live here."

John stood up from the table and pulled James over to the bed gently, laying them both down on the bed, and cradling James in his arms, "James, love, I told you, that was in no way your fault. No one was supposed to get out of there alive, and I thank God everyday that you did. Every single day, James."

James was silent, but looked up at John, as if to beg him to keep speaking, "When I got shot," John started, taking a shuddering breath, "all I could think of was you. How if I died I'd never get to see you again. That I would inadvertently break my promise to you. All I wanted was to see you again, not just in dreams."

"I would have forgiven you, you know that. I could have lived on, though I would've never forgotten you. I knew there was a chance both of us wouldn't get out of there alive and I never knew 'it,'" he motioned to his face and arm, "would be this bad when I asked you to find me when you got out. I didn't think I'd be this broken." His face fell and he averted his gaze from John's, only to get pulled back. John kissed his right cheek and laid their foreheads together. 

"You are not broken, James Sholto. You had the will to live. I didn't even have that before you came back. Because I knew there always a chance you'd never want to see me again. Because I wouldn't have been able to fix it. I want you to know that not a day went by without me thinking of you. Not a single one," John cupped the back of James's neck and nudged his face to kiss him. 

"Nor I, John. Nor I." James replied when they parted, "I just don't know what to do. I want this, and you, all of you, finally, but I don't know. I've lived, basically, in seclusion since returning. But all we got before were those couple of months. And that's not enough for me. I don't know, John. I just don't know."

John rubbed his thumb over the nape of James's neck, "No need to stress it. I rather jumped the gun on that one. That's my fault, love."

James shook his head, "No, I was the one to bring it up all that time ago. Give me a few days, here, with you, before I make a decision?"

John nodded, "As much as you need. I'm not going anywhere. Not without you, mind. Now that I just got you back." He smiled and kissed James firmly, hoping to seal the promise. John never wanted to go anywhere without James ever again. And he'd follow anywhere James led, if necessary. Always.


	9. Part 9: Stargazers in Desperation

James always knew John was his safe haven. He didn’t know why or how it happened, it just did. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night in Afghanistan, loose threads from some nightmare or another already fading from his mind. He would leave his tent as quietly as he could, but somehow John always heard him.

It was always freezing, but they were in t-shirts. John would wrap his arms lightly around James’s torso, grounding. James didn’t realize it, but he’d be shaking. John would lace his fingers through James’s, murmuring susurrations into his back, “Sh, James, sh. Right here, love. I’m right here.”

James would grip his hands tighter, pull them to his chest, and just let the weight of them still his beating heart. John would continue to murmur. “S’alright, s’alright. Deep breaths, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” And as the minutes passed in the pitch black desert, they came back to themselves, both returning to their tents, but James always knew John kept a weather eye in him the next day.

On nights when they chanced it, the need to hold each other a bit too strong, it was normally John who shook in terror. James knew to be careful, to give him time to come too. Most of the time he did, immediately gripping whatever part of James’s body was closest, just as reassurance. But on nights when he didn’t, when he was too deep in sleep, too deep in terror, to pull himself out. His grip is tighter on those nights, blunt nails digging into skin. It’s like that now.

James wasn’t awake when it started. He’s out of practice, not attuned to the shaking of the other man’s body anymore. John had been laying on his chest, arms flung over James’s side. His fingers were digging into his wrist. James shifts his hand carefully, his fingers weaving through John, a weight, an anchor. John’s eyes open, frantic and wide, only relaxing minimally when they land on James. He starts speaking, utter nonsense, “James, we gotta get out. We have to go.” Rapid and shaky, the words barely making sense.

James sits up, pulling John with him. He extracted his hand and placed it on John’s cheek. He waded through his own sleepiness, ready to comfort. “Love, no. It’s all right. We’re not in Afghanistan, we’re in London. We’re home. You’re all right, John. You’re safe. We’re both safe. I promise.” He dragged his thumb lightly across John’s cheek as his eyes came more into focus. John collapsed into James in exhaustion, silent sobs wracking his body. James’s good arm runs up and down his spine.

“Sorry,” John says sometime later, after their hands had been magnetized back together and the shaking had subsided, “I was back there, and you were there, bleeding under my hands again and there wasn’t enough time. There’s never enough time in dreams. And when I woke up, I meant that we had to get out of the army, like we’d planned. I don’t know, it’s always something.”  
James rubbed his thumb over the back of John’s hand, the one that’s saved lives, and just breathed. John was right. “It’s always something. It’s always us.”


End file.
